


Slumming It

by kijilinn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bar Scenes, Gen, Hidden Family, Sister!winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6896080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijilinn/pseuds/kijilinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane's friend challenges her to get the digits of the tall drink of water by the bar, but all goes sideways when she realizes she has family she never knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“If you get me his number, I might reconsider.”

“Which one?”

“The tall one. Duh.”

I looked over the pair sitting at the bar and considered Ann’s proposition. Her father had given her an old Corvette for graduation and I had been begging her to let me buy it for almost two years. If she was willing to reconsider her stubbornness in return for some guy’s number, I wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth. “Done.”

Ann grinned at me, all dimples and peach pink cheeks, then swirled the end of her drink and knocked it back. “Excellent. Go to it, tiger.”

I turned back to the two men and slid down off my bar stool. It’d been awhile since I’d tried this kind of thing in reverse, so maybe it wasn’t going to be as easy as I wanted Ann to think it was. But for a chance at that cherry Corvette… “Hey, there.” I smiled and tucked myself up beside the taller man. I caught Chessy’s eye and the bartender rolled her eyes, but came over within earshot. “Can I buy you boys a round?”

“Hell yeah!” The shorter man, who was only short by comparison to his gargantuan companion, grinned at me around his toothpick. “Never turn down a pretty girl asking to buy you alcohol.”

The taller man glared and let out a low huff before smiling thinly at me. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Ah, c’mon, Sammy,” the other man said, slapping the back of his hand against Sam’s shoulder. “Live a little.”

When Sam raised an eyebrow at me, I gave him my cutest grin, the grin that had melted lesser men off their barstools before. His lips pursed and he sighed with a shrug. “Fine. I’ll have another beer.”

“Whiskey,” his friend said with a nod.

Chessy glanced at me and I nodded. The cheap stuff. She knew me well. She smirked at me and began drawing the beer. “I haven’t see you boys in here before,” I said to Sam. I gave him enough space so he didn’t feel like I was crowding him and made a careful point of not giving his friend the eye contact he seemed to be fishing for. Sam didn’t meet my eyes, though, and I began to wonder if this was going to be even harder than I thought.

“We’re just passing through.” Sam’s smile was thin and polite.

“What brought you through this way?”

“A job,” his friend inserted quickly. “We’re… uh, special agents for Homeland Security.”

I gave him a brief once-over. If this--admittedly gorgeous--piece of work was an agent for anything but the Pretty Titty Patrol, I’d eat his badge with ketchup. “Uh-huh.” The skepticism in my voice melted the smug smile right off his face and I had to suppress a grin of my own. That was surprisingly satisfying. When I glanced back up into Sam’s face, he was smirking into his fresh beer. Score one for the home team!

“Actually, it is work,” Sam admitted as his friend grumbled into his whiskey. “We’re private investigators working a missing persons case.” He fished around in his jacket for a moment, then pulled out a bent and worn photograph of a handsome man in his mid-fifties. “Does this face ring any bells for you?”

That face… I took the photograph from Sam and stared at it. There was something about him that was so familiar. “Yes, actually,” I whispered. “Where have I seen him…” I tapped the photo against my forehead, closing my eyes and struggling with the thread of familiarity. It was so weird. Like I’d seen his eyes in a younger face before. “Just a second.” I turned back quickly to where Ann was still sitting and she looked up at me in surprise, letting her phone rest on the bar. “Do you remember this guy? I swear I know him from somewhere, but I can’t place it.”

Ann took the photo and looked at it, a crease showing between her dark, well-tended eyebrows. When her eyes met mine again, she looked puzzled. “Um, he looks like you, Janey. Did you seriously not see that?”

I stared at her for a minute, then looked down at the photo again. His eyes are my eyes. His smile is my semi-irritated get-the-camera-out-of-my-face smile. I sat down hard on the barstool beside my friend and just stared. The longer I looked, the more of myself I saw. My hair was dark like his, but so was my mother’s. I had his dimples. “The fuck?”

Ann reached and took the photo away from me before flipping it over to read the back. “It says, ‘John, Summer ‘03.’”

I snatched it away from her. “Oh. My. God.” At Ann’s puzzled glare, I chewed my lip for a second. “You remember when Mom got really drunk on New Year’s? She called Dad ‘John’ the whole time. He got really angry and asked her who ‘John’ was and she started crying and wouldn’t talk to him for almost two days.”

My friend’s eyes were like saucers as she met my gaze. “Wasn’t your mom already pregnant when your folks got married?”

I felt dizzy with all the possibilities and questions that seeing this man smiling up from a photo had suddenly thrown into my life. I slowly turned back to the two men at the bar and slipped the photo so it was lying beside Sam’s hand on the bar, squared with the edge. “I think I need something stronger to drink.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, but nodded and Chessy was already there with a shot of tequila. She must have been listening. “On the house, babe,” she whispered and patted the back of my hand before walking away again. I knocked back the shot and felt it burn its way down my chest before I took the lemon wedge to suck on. 

“So, have you seen him?” Sam finally asked, his tone urgent.

I looked at the photo, picked it up, covered the lower half of John’s face with my fingers and then held it up to my face, covering my mouth and nose. I gave them my best “fuck the camera” smile around the lemon, which crinkled my eyes just like his. Sam and his friend looked at me without comprehension, then Sam’s eyes darted up and down from the photo to my eyes again.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, kind of what I was thinking,” I agreed.

“What is it?” his friend demanded, frustrated at being left out of the revelation.

“How old are you?” Sam asked me.

“Just turned twenty-two.” Sam paused and I could see him doing the math in his head. “I was born in ‘84.”

“And this has to do with what?”

“Shut up, Dean,” snapped Sam. “I’m trying to think.” His eyes bounced up and down from my face to the photo a few more times. “Lemme see your mouth,” he said and I dropped the photo and spit out the lemon, letting him examine my jawline. I smiled at him, activating Dimple Drive. That did it. He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, the timeline fits. We were with Bobby. His journal said he was working a job out this way.” He looked at Dean over his shoulder and I could see the other man’s expression was between frustrated and downright angry. “She’s our sister, Dean.”

Dean looked at me. The last few minutes replayed in his head and it was like I could see him processing everything he’d said and thought since first seeing me. “Son of a bitch,” he groaned and put his head down on the bar. “Couldn’t Dad keep it in his pants once in awhile?”

“That’s our grandmother you're talking about,” Sam said with a faint smile. “Watch your mouth.” He turned back to face me on the barstool and cleared his throat carefully. “So. This has been weird and awkward. And that’s saying a lot, given our current line of work. My name is Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean. And, based on presented evidence, it would appear that we’re your brothers.”

I offered him a weak smile and a nod. “I’m Jane Bjorgman. Be-yorg-man. B-J-O-R-G. Yeah, I’m Finnish. And yes, this has been exceedingly weird and awkward, no matter what line of work you’re in. Especially because the only reason I came over at all was because she wanted your number.” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at Ann. If I knew my best friend, she was almost falling off her barstool, trying to give me throat-cutting gestures. I glanced at her over my shoulder and grinned. “At least you’ve got good taste. He’s my brother.”

A dull clunking sound drew my attention back to Dean and when I looked, I found him slowly beating his head on the bar. “Stupid. Mother. Fucker. Had to. Fuck. Every. Pretty. Girl.”

“In his defense,” Sam offered, “you were hoping for the same. And she’s got Dad’s eyes.”

“Dude!” Dean reared back to give Sam an offended and disgusted look. “Do not go there. Just don’t. That’s really not funny right now.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam grinned at him. “It’s hilarious.”

“I’m suddenly feeling the need to play a banjo,” I added, delighting in the look of discomfort on Dean’s face.

“So picking on Dean is genetic?” he asked woefully.

“Like you’ve never picked on me,” snorted Sam.

Ann touched my elbow and cleared her throat delicately. “So… about getting his number? Deal’s off. This is too weird for me.”

I could hear the rev of that engine, could see the Corvette roaring away from me and I grabbed desperately for her arm. “Aw, c’mon, Annie! Please?” Dean and Sam were watching us with interest and I struggled to keep my focus. I needed to own that car. “I’ll give you a great deal. She’s not even running right now. What are you going to do with her, let her rust?”

“Maybe sell her for parts,” Ann said with a teasing lift to her lips, not quite a smirk.

I drooped dramatically against the bar. “Annie, you’re killing me!”

“What’s this about?” Dean asked, suddenly all attention and focus.

“Sam, Dean, this is my friend, Ann,” I explained. “Also known as the heartless bitch whose father gave her a ‘69 Corvette Stingray for graduation and she promptly ruined it. I’ve been trying to buy the corpse from her for two years.”

Dean’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward again. “Stingray, huh? Automatic or manual?”

“Manual, but she blew the transmission. Needs a new one.”

“Convertible.”

“No.”

“Eh, go with what you’ve got, I guess.”

I grinned at the sympathy I saw in his eyes. “She’s beautiful, though. Deep, cherry red, white stripe, 395 horsepower. She’ll roar when she’s finished.” I gave Ann a wistful, pathetic pout. “If someone would just SELL.”

“I said I MIGHT reconsider,” Ann said, sticking out her tongue at me. “Besides. Deal’s off.”

“You want my number that badly?” Sam asked with an amused, almost embarrassed expression on his face.

“That was before you became her brother,” Ann sighed sadly. “I don’t family of friends. Too messy.”

“Who said anything about dating…” Sam’s smile was killer and I thought I heard the friendly beep of a Corvette somewhere in my future.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, I guess this is a little wild for you,” Dean said as he poured me another beer from the pitcher between us, then filled his own. We had moved to a table farther from the bar, since Ann had been giving me the evil eye for standing so close while she and Sam were negotiating their potential evening.

I nodded agreement. “I mean, I went from being an older sister to being a baby sister in about thirty seconds. Not to mention finding out that my siblings are only half-related.” I took a slow drink of my beer, then looked at Dean over the rim. “You sound like you’ve run into this kind of thing before, though.”

“Not exactly.” Dean shrugged and leaned his elbows on the table, rolling his beer between his palms. “Our dad is… secretive. I’ve been working with him my whole life and I keep finding all these things I never knew about the guy.” His lips curved up, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. In the dim light of the bar, it was hard to tell what color his eyes were; they looked almost brown. “He’s been missing for a long while and we’re still hoping to find him.”

Something about his words was bothering me and I tilted my head to consider, running the edge of my beer glass against my bottom lip. “So, private investigating is the family business?”

His eyes darted up to meet mine, then he looked down again to the depths of his half-empty beer glass. “Yeah. Kind of.” Dean drank off the last of the beer and eyed the pitcher. When he saw that I was still watching him closely, he squirmed in his seat and turned away. His gaze traveled over Sam and Ann at the bar, the few drunken dancers on the floor, the way Chessy smiled at a few new patrons as they came in. When his eyes came back to mine and he found that I wasn’t looking away, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Jane, I don’t want to drag you into all of this. You’re much better off staying clear. We’re just looking for our dad.”

“And when I woke up this morning, I knew exactly where my dad was: asleep in his bed next to my mother in Tampa.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, not willing to budge an inch. “When I woke up this morning, I knew exactly who I was. Now, I’m not so sure. You’ve gotta help me out here, Dean.”

Dean sighed and licked his lips quickly before tipping back his glass in hopes of chasing the last few drops from the bottom. “Who you were this morning hasn’t changed. You just learned something new.” He leaned on the table and gave me a small smile. “Besides, how could I help you figure that out? I just met you.”

“Tell me about him.” I stared into the bottom of my glass, turning the bowed column in my hands so the contents swirled slowly. “Tell me about Sam. Tell me about you. I never knew I had older brothers. I grew up with a little sister and a little brother. This changes everything for me.” I looked up at Dean, pleading. “My family just got bigger.”

He melted. It was a visible thing, his expression softening as he sighed. “Dammit, you look just like Sam when he’s doing that. Those damn puppy eyes.” Dean put his head in his hands for a second, then rubbed them vigorously over his hair until it stuck up strangely. “Okay, fine,” he said, almost a grumble. “I’ll tell you.”

And he did. He told me about their mother. He told me about the nursery fire that killed her. He told me how the loss drove our father into a spiral of maddened grief until it hardened into  rage to find the thing that had killed her. He told me that monsters were real. That the things that go bump in the night were scarier than any story ever made them out to be. “And we hunt them, he finished.

There isn’t much beer left in the pitcher, but I poured what was there into my glass and took a drink. Dean waited, eyes steady on my face as I struggled to process his story. “Monsters are real,” I repeated quietly. “All of them.”

“Well, most of them,” Dean added with a nod.

“It’s a lot to take in,” I said. Dean nodded again without speaking and I put my chin in my hand, thinking. As much as it didn’t make sense, it also made a lot of sense. Almost too much sense. It explained all the weirdness I’d already seen in my life. Haunted houses. Ghosts captured on film. The way that one girl in high school seemed to have a different color or style to her hair every day and whenever someone asked her about it, she would just smile and say, “Magic.” Answered prayer. I believed him. I looked up to meet my brother’s steady, serious gaze and told him so. “I believe you.”

Dean’s smile was both pleased and sad at the same time. “Yeah, you’re a Winchester.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “So, Dad’s been missing for about a month. He does hunts on his own sometimes, but he’s never out of touch for long and he left behind his journal. He never goes anywhere without it.” I blinked at the clear worry on his face. It seemed like a lot of information to be telling a relative stranger, but family was family, I guess. “We thought there was some sounds out this way like maybe he’d been seen. But you haven’t seen him and I guess some of those hits were were getting might have been your resemblance.”

“Maybe.” I scooted my chair back and leaned on the table, my arms crossed under my chin. “Can I see the picture again?” Dean pulled it out and slid it across the worn table to me. I stared down at the smiling man looking past the camera. The similarities really were uncanny. I almost looked more like him than Sam and Dean did. “I wonder why Mom never told me.”

“One night fling in a hotel somewhere with a guy she never saw again?” Dean smiled at me, a gentle smile. “Maybe it was to keep you safe. You had a safe life there, with your dad and your siblings. Knowing he wasn’t your real dad wasn’t going to make your life better, was it? Just more dangerous.”

“And more real.” I looked up at him without lifting my chin from the backs of my hands. “More honest.” I reached and traced one fingertip around my father’s face in the picture. He looked strong, sad, like a man who would fight to protect his family, who still felt the loss of his wife, still worried for his kids. Maybe all of them. “Do you think he knew about me?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so. Dad wouldn’t have left a kid behind if he knew about her. At the very least, he would have checked on you.” He leaned forward and put his hand over mind to still my incessant tracing of John’s face. “Jane. He didn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t. Winchesters don’t leave family behind.”

“So what did he do to you?” I looked up and saw Dean flinch back from the bald question. “Sorry. I just..”

“No,” Dean said quickly and shook his head, “you’re right. That’s kind of the point, though. Dad wouldn’t just leave us behind. Something must have happened to him. We’re worried that he needs help.”

“Can… Can I help?” I sat up straighter and looked Dean in the eye. I barely knew these men, but they were family and the longer I talked to Dean, the more I could feel that connection in my bones. “I haven’t seen him, but maybe I can help you look.”

Dean paused and looked at me without speaking. I could feel his eyes assessing me, taking in the cut of my clothing, the way I carried myself, the texture of my hands. I was a civilian and I could see that judgement in his face. There was doubt in those familiar hazel eyes. “Look, Jane. We were raised into this life. There’s probably a reason Dad never found out about you. Your mom wanted you to have a safe, normal life. Isn’t that what any parent wants for their kid?”

“Let me help, Dean,” I pleaded and leaned toward him. “If I can do something to help, I want to. I mean, I’ve never met my father. My real father. And I want to. No matter how dangerous that life may be.”

“Yup,” Dean sighed and gave me a small smile. “Definitely a Winchester.”

A wild crash from the bar drew our attention and I saw Ann and Sam hugging each other and giggling drunkenly. “Well, they sure hit it off,” I commented dryly. Chessy caught my eye and raised her eyebrows, a wordless plea to take them home. “Have you guys got somewhere to stay or should I drive them to Ann’s place?”

“We’re in a motel off the highway,” Dean said, “but we’ve only got one room and I don’t exactly love the idea of sharing it with them.”

“I’ll drive them to Ann’s,” I smiled. When he was watching Sam, I lifted his cell phone out of his back pocket and added my number into his contacts. He turned just in time to see me folding the phone shut with a click. “You should really password your phone, big brother. Call me in the morning, would you? We’ll make plans for breakfast.”

Dean gave me another of those long, amused looks. “Sure.” He took the phone back and shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh, yeah. Definitely a Winchester.” He walked over to Sam and slipped his drunken brother’s arm over his shoulder while I collected Ann. It took both of us to haul the two lovebirds out to my car. Once they were both buckled into the backseat and cooing over each other, I slid into the driver’s seat and smiled up at Dean. He leaned his arms along the edge of the door and watched me with a smile. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, Jane. Have a good night.”

“You, too, big brother,” I beamed back. I could get used to this whole little sister thing.


	3. Chapter 3

My phone was ringing when I got out of the shower the next morning. I wandered from the bathroom to the bedroom to find my phone sitting on the bedside table and checked the face. Dean’s number was highlighted on the called ID and I smiled, feeling warmth creep over me. “Yellow,” I said as I accepted the call.

“Morning,” Dean replied. He sounded mostly awake but grumpy. “You want to meet somewhere for breakfast?”

“Sure. The Fox Den is pretty good and not too expensive. They’re right down the road from your motel.” I threw my towel over the back of a desk chair and added, “Do you want me to collect Sam? Since I already know where Ann lives?”

Dean’s chuckle was low and sadistic. “The ride of shame is even worse when your unknown little sister’s picking you up. That would make my morning, Jane.”

“Let me get some clothes and I’ll swing by to get him,” I grinned. “We’ll be at the Fox Den in maybe fifteen?”

“I’ll see you there.”

I hopped into some jeans and a t-shirt. It’s the weekend and I won’t have to work again until Tuesday. Ten hour shifts are never fun, but it’s nice to only work four nights a week. I pulled my hair back into a soggy ponytail and the phone rang again. I double checked and grinned when I saw Ann’s number. “Morning, beautiful,” I crooned as I picked up.

“What the hell, Janey,” Ann breathed on the other end. “Why did you let me go home with him last night!?”

“I’m certain I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, letting a mockingly arch tone slip into my voice. “Is he clothed? His brother called me looking for him.”

Ann made a sound like a dying moose and I stifled a giggle. “You mean YOUR brother. This is going to be so weird, Jane! What the hell am I going to do!? I banged my best friend’s brother! And I even knew about it!”

“Was he any good?”

“Oh, hell, which is totally where I’m going. Straight there, do not pass go. He was a-mazing.” I could practically hear Ann blushing as she cupped her hand around the phone. “If he wasn’t your brother, I’d totally recommend him.”

I bit my lip hard on another laugh and managed to say, “Seriously, does he have clothes on? Dean called me and I agreed to pick him up.”

“He’s still asleep and he’s too damn pretty to wake up, Jane.”

“Put the phone by his ear.”

“What?”

My lips curled in a malicious grin. “You heard me, Annie.”

“Oh god.” I heard the faint rustling of movement, then a sound like static. Ann’s voice was distant, but she whispered, “Okay.”

I took a deep breath and then hollered into the phone as loud as I could manage, “RISE AND SHINE, SAMMY BOY!”

There was a masculine yelp followed by Ann’s hysterical giggling and a thumping sound from a distance with another more directly in my ear. “What the hell?” I heard Sam asking in foggy confusion.

“Get your big boy manties on, Sammy!” I shouted. “Your little sis is coming to get you.”

The silence that followed my announcement was profoundly uncomfortable, punctuated only with Ann giggling into her hands. I heard the phone being located and picked up, then Sam’s voice asked, “Jane?”

“Good morning!” I carolled cheerfully. I was getting into the spirit of this.

“Are you always like this in the morning?”

“Nope,” I beamed, “this is special just for you.”

Sam laughed weakly. “My god, it’s like Dad just cloned Dean and made him female.”

“That’s probably how that would work, you know,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Ever read Heinlein? Lapis Lazuli Long was Lazurus’s female clone. There was another one, too, but I can only ever remember Lapis.”

“Only smarter,” sighed Sam.

“Oh, I dunno. Lapis and Laz were about the same as far as intelligence goes. She had estrogen on her side, but he had the strength, physically.”

“No, I mean you.”

“Oh.” I stopped, flustered and blushing. “Thank you.”

“So, I take it you’re coming to pick me up?” I could hear Sam moving around and the background rustle of cloth and the clink of belt and jeans hardware knocking together. 

“Yeah. Dean called about five minutes ago. I gave him directions to a diner.”

“He’ll be on his second breakfast by the time we get there.”

“So, he’s a Hobbit, then.”

“Pretty much.”

“Does that make him a Longfellow? Weren’t they the taller family of Hobbits?”

I heard more rustling and then Sam’s clear laughter. “Two different book references in the same conversation? I think my brain is going to explode.”

“I like to read,” I grinned.

“I think I like you,” he replied. “See you in a bit.”

“Yup. See you soon.”

 

***

 

I pulled up in front of Ann’s small duplex and leaned back in the driver’s seat, waiting for Sam and Ann to notice me. Ann bounced down the sidewalk only seconds after I parked and stuck her head in through the open passenger window: “Want company for breakfast or is this a family thing?”

“I think it’s a family thing,” I admitted, wrinkling my nose and smiling. She nodded, uninjured by the refusal. “Dean sounded last night like there might be some heavy stuff to talk about. Otherwise, I’d love to have you.”

“I’ll catch you later, then,” she smiled. “I’ve got to work tonight and tomorrow, but I’m up for pool or something on Tuesday, if you want.”

“We’ll see.” The door opened and we both looked up as Sam came down the sidewalk, looking rumpled and finger-combed. I leaned back in my seat to give them some privacy to say goodbye before Sam climbed into the passenger seat. I waved to Ann. “Love you, babe.”

“You, too,” she called as I started the car and pulled away from the curb.

As I took the turn toward the Fox’s Den, I glanced over at Sam and said, “Okay, lemme see your neck.”

“What?!” he asked, startled.

“Left side. About three inches down from your ear. Lemme see.” With a puzzled look, Sam pulled his collar down the requested three inches and turned his neck and shoulder toward me. Ann’s distinctive chew mark was visible there, still livid on his tanned skin. I nodded firmly. “She wasn’t lying about you. You’re good.”

Sam stared at me for a few minutes. “You’re...a little weird.”

“What, I know that my best friend marks her favorites,” I replied with a shrug. “Consider it a badge of honor. She doesn’t leave those on just anyone.”

He stared for a moment more, then sat back with an expression somewhere between amusement and self-satisfaction. “I’ve got to admit, it’s not often a guy gets that kind of honest, instant feedback on a one-night stand.”

“You should sleep with your sister’s friends more often.”

“You’re really loving this, aren’t you?”

I gave him a mock-confused look and pressed my left hand to my chest. “Moi? Whatever do you mean, dear brother?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “This whole ‘little sister’ thing. Yesterday, you woke up the big sister of the family and now you’re playing up the baby angle.”

“What can I say,” I grinned at him, “I’m flexible. Besides, I never miss a chance to tease someone mercilessly.” I checked my mirrors and pulled suddenly into the parking lot of the Fox’s Den with enough force to squish Sam up against the passenger door. Someone blared a horn at me and I returned the sentiment with an extended middle finger.

Once I finished parking, Sam climbed out and held the door to the diner open for me. I gave him a grateful nod and held the second set open for him in turn. The Fox’s Den was a small family diner that had been open forever, passed through at least three generations of Foxes. Lindsay Fox graduated from high school with me and her parents own the place now. She was next in line to manage and if her blazing smile this morning was any indication, she was gearing up for the challenge. She was bussing tables, her long black hair tied neatly into a bun as she waved a coffee carafe towards me. “Jane!” she cried. She had been on the way to refill Dean’s coffee and the waving pot came very close to clocking him in the side of the head. Lindsay was always cheerful and sweet, but occasionally lacked spacial awareness.

I smiled and waved back as Sam and I negotiated our way through the scattered small tables. Most of them were full of the Saturday morning breakfast crowd and my stomach growled happily at the sight of three plates in front of Dean. “I ordered for you,” he said cheerfully, “since it seemed kind of busy.” His own plate was mostly empty: pancake platter with eggs and bacon without a scrap left. He was sponging up the last of the syrup with a final corner of flapjack. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. From his tone, it was surprising that Dean would have thought that far ahead and Sam looked at the strawberry waffle on his plate with mild suspicion before stabbing a berry with his fork and tasting.

“Y’all together?” Lindsay drawled and I gave her a raised eyebrow. The accent is pure affectation: she normally spoke with a more neutral Midwest-to-East-Coast accent similar to mine, but she had been working on her regional dialects with an online speech coach. Nothing bears a small-town girl’s dreams of stardom.

“Yes, thanks.” I gave her a big grin. “Can I get coffee and an orange juice?”

“Same,” Sam adds. He looks down at his waffle in baffled surprise. “This is really good.”

“Shucks, thank you,” Lindsay said with a little half-dip. “Mama’s been makin’ ‘em from Gramma’s recipe for years.”

“And she got it from her daddy,” I snorted and imitated her accent. Lindsay glared at me and I beamed radiantly back. “Well, she did.” I leaned toward Dean in a confidential stage whisper, “Everyone knows Daddy Fox was a Parisian pastry chef during the war.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at me, then glanced back at Lindsay, who was glaring daggers. “Uh-huh.”

“She’s giving you the tourist line,” I grinned. “These are my brothers, Lindsay. You can drop the act.”

Lindsay huffed and turned back toward the kitchen. “I need the practice,” she threw over her shoulder and stomped off with a sassy little twitch of her hip.

“We went to school together.”

“Frenemies?” Dean asked, waggling his hand from side to side.

“More like sisters, really,” I grinned back.

“So you treat her like you treated me this morning,” Sam said. He stabbed the greasy, half-burned bacon on his plate and was sliding across to Dean’s when my fingers darted out to steal the crispy strips and stuff them into my mouth ungracefully.

“Yup.”

Dean stared, his jaw slack and his expression hurt. “She stole my bacon!”

“And your heart,” I purred, batting my eyes at him.

“Next time, I’ll stab your fingers.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“See if I order you breakfast again! You’ll get nothing but oatmeal and vegetable smoothies.” 

Sam raised his eyebrow and glanced at a menu. “Do they have those? Sounds good.”

“Ew.” Dean and I exchanged stares, then both grinned. 

“I don’t know if I’m going to survive two of you,” Sam sadly told his strawberries.


	4. Chapter 4

The plates stood empty, scrubbed clean of syrup and crumbs and Lindsay had sashayed over to refill our coffee and water. Waiting for her to be out of earshot, Dean leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. “Okay, so we’ve confirmed that the local hits on Dad’s picture were probably noticing a resemblance to you. Which means there really isn’t much here for us.” He pressed his lips together in an apologetic expression and lifted his shoulders. “Sorry.”

I fiddled with my napkin, not quite able to meet his green-hazel eyes this morning. “So where will you go now?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance before Dean shrugged again. “We usually poke around until something weird turns up in the papers, then head in that direction. Unless we get a call from one of Dad’s contacts or someone else who needs help.”

I finally managed to lift my head to meet Dean’s eyes, then Sam’s. The center of my chest ached at the idea of watching them leave without me, but there was no point entertaining any other options. It wasn’t like I could just drop everything and go with them. Could I? “Do you have a place that’s home?” 

“No permanent address,” Dean said, “but as long as we’re together, that’s home.”

“Family is home,” I sighed and saw Sam’s lips curl into a wistful smile as he studied his empty plate. “I get that.”

“Yeah.” Sam and Dean exchanged another of those long looks. I could feel it: they were two people who had lived inside each other’s heads for years. Like brothers. I considered my own siblings, now half-siblings. They were so different from each other and each of them was different from me. The kinship of growing up together was strong, but I could feel the unseen bond with these two strangers still pulling on me.

“We don’t have to leave right away,” Sam blurted. When I looked to meet his eyes, he gave me a sheepish, hopeful grin. “We could, you know, stick around for a few nights.” He looked at Dean and nodded, both seeking his brother’s approval and agreeing with himself.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then sighed and shook his head with a smile. “It’s not like we have a lead right now anyway. Sure, why the hell not?” He paused to raise an eyebrow at Sam. “So… that Ann girl was good, huh?”

“Of course she is,” I said when Sam opened his mouth and blushed. “You think I’d be friends with just anyone?” When they both looked at me in surprise, I leaned back in my seat with both hands wrapped around the sides of my warm coffee mug. I lifted my chin briefly to give them a smug smile. “I have very strict standards.”

“Are you sure you’re a Winchester?” Sam asked, shooting Dean an amused glance.

Dean glared back at him. “You know that applies to you, too, right?” They gave each other childish faces and I felt that warm, curling sensation in my chest again. It was like being hugged with a blanket fresh out of the dryer on a bitterly cold winter day. I closed my eyes on the realization that being with these two was a piece I’d been missing my entire life, but never realized it.

“So, you’ve gotten to know us a little,” Sam said and leaned on the table to face me. “It’s only fair that we get to know you, too. Beyond your excellent taste in friends and your obvious talent for sassy snark.”

I blushed at the remark, but smiled at him “There’s really not much to tell.” I told them about high school, my family and friends. I told them about my siblings, about my parent’s decision to move to Tampa right after I had graduated. They--especially Sam--asked questions to keep me rolling. In the end, it felt like there was more to tell than I’d really realized and they both seemed truly interested in my answers. They were as curious about me as I was about them and their father. Our father.

“Did you ever think this kind of thing could be real?” Dean asked and waved a general circle with his coffee spoon.

“Not really.” I shrugged. “I mean, I dated a guy  whose aunt was a psychic, but she was the professional kid, you know? All hooey and fake Jamaican accent. ‘Call me now for a free readin’.’”

“There are plenty of those around,” Dean said with a grin.

“She was pretty spooky, though,” I murmured and leaned back to reconsider the events. “Henry took me down to see her once, to prove she was real. She lives down in Kansas somewhere. She played up the accent the whole time, but she kept looking at me weird. She dropped the accent a couple of times and just sounded normal. I’m not sure which was worse: the fake accent or how many times she dropped it and looked at me all worried.” Both of the brothers went very still and watched me with an intensity I hadn’t expected the story to warrant. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Where did you say she lived?” Sam asked, his voice hushed and urgent.

“Kansas somewhere,” I said and shrugged. “Actually, that’s funny. She had a state name, too. What was it… Georgia... “

“Missouri?” Dean and Sam said together and I looked up in surprise. “Missouri’s the real deal,” Dean continued with a stiff smile. “She knows Dad, too.”

I looked from one brother to the other, trying to absorb what they were telling me. “So...if she knew your--our dad and she met me…” An odd sensation ran down my belly, like someone had pulled the chair out from under me. “That’s why she looked so confused and worried.”

“You look like Dad,” Sam agreed. “Maybe he did know about you.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Dean leaned forward on the table, staring at me. “When you saw her, did you tell you anything?”

“Um…” I leaned back and slouched in my seat, my hands over my face as I tried to remember the details. It had been almost three years ago. It felt strange for it to suddenly have so much importance to these men I barely knew. “She said, ‘Oh, honey.’ It was the first thing she said out of accent and it looked like it hurt her to say it. When I looked at her weird, she went back into the accent and said stuff about how I was going to have lots of pain in my future. She kept giving Henry these mean, significant looks. Which was true; he was a bastard and I think she knew that without being psychic. Before we left, though, she touched my hand which I hated because it made me jump. I wasn’t expecting it. She said, ‘Don’t let him scare you into doing anything you don’t want to do. The shrine where he worships isn’t the only important thing.’ I thought she meant it about Henry and how pushy he was about sex, but maybe not.” As I ran out of steam, I peeked over my hands to check Dean and Sam’s reactions.

They looked at each other in silence, then back at me. “What do you think she meant?” Sam asked in a soft voice.

“It never really made any kind of sense to me,” I admitted with a weak shrug. “I dunno.”

“Maybe we should go back,” Dean said. When Sam nodded, they both looked back at me and Dean asked, “Wanna come?”

“Right now?” I asked, a little stunned.

Dean shrugged. “Sure, why not? Unless you’ve gotta be somewhere.”

“It’s a three-hour drive!” I protested.

“That’s nothing,” Sam chuckled. “We do that kind of driving for less of a tip than this.”

I stared at them with my mouth open, then sat back and clicked my jaw shut as I considered. I didn’t have to work at the hospital until Tuesday. Nobody was expecting me for any events or anything. Why not? Part of me, maybe the more sensible part, was screaming that this was a bad idea, that nobody knew where I was going and sure, they were my brothers but I’d never seen them before last night. On the other hand… “Shotgun!” I shouted and bolted for the door.

“How the hell did we not grow up with her?” I heard Sam grumble as I slammed my way through the front door and sprinted for the parking lot.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s amazing how fast three hours passes in a roaring classic car in terrific shape, in the company of two men who have perfected their banter and refined their ability to annoy each other to a wicked dagger’s edge, all under the pounding soundtrack of AC/DC, Metallica, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Kansas. Dean and Sam kept me alternating between hysterical laughter and joining in with the good-natured teasing for the entire trip. Sometimes, we broke it up to belt out lyrics to one of the songs we knew.

Near the outskirts of Laurence, Kansas, the mood sobered. I could see the smirk fading from Dean’s lips and Sam subsided into the back seat, folding up on himself like an umbrella. They were both pensive and quiet now and it was impossible to not feel swept up in the mood. I turned to look out the window; some of the streets were familiar from when I had visited with Henry, but that seemed like a long time ago.

“It’s a left up here,” Sam said from the back seat, tapping Dean’s shoulder.

“I know,” snapped Dean. “I know where we’re going, Sam.”

Sam sank backward, his hands raised in surrender. “I was just making sure.”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t look around, but I got the impression he was watching me in his peripheral vision. I wondered to myself how much of the tough-guy routine had been a facade. This was a darker brooding than I’d seen from him so far.

The Impala rolled to a stop on the street in front of a cozy-looking little house with a slightly sagging front porch. A woman stood on the porch and waved to us as we drove up. At her small smile, Sam waved back and returned the smile. He seemed nervous. We all climbed out of the car and walked up her sidewalk. I recognized the same dark eyes and braided scarf over Missouri’s hair from the first time I had met her. “Honey,” she said, holding out one hand to me, “I’m glad they found you.”

I reached out and took her hand, suddenly unable to swallow against the tightness in my chest. Her grip was strong and gentle. She looked over my shoulder to where Sam and Dean were standing. “Still no word from your father?”

“No,” Sam confirmed. He stopped in the grass a few feet away from Missouri, but she snorted and reached for him. He smiled and walked into her hug. “What if we don’t find him?”

“You will,” she said. “Come in, I’ve got fresh lemonade.”

Dean stood back a few steps, but came along behind me while Missouri led us up the porch and into the living room. She waved a hand at the couch and gave the elder Winchester a stern glare before vanishing into the kitchen. “Janey, come in here with me, sugar.” I blinked, surprised that she had remembered my name, but I followed her obediently into her small kitchen with its worn linoleum and refinished 60s cabinets. There were pictures on the refrigerator held up with magnets and ranging in style from children’s drawings to printed copies of digital artwork When I stopped to study them, Missouri grinned in impish delight. “My daughter went to art school. I’m so damn proud of her. I can’t help but print out everything she does. She’s been in Mama’s gallery since she was knee-high and she always will be.”

"She's good," I murmured. One of the images looked familiar, a farming landscape done in colored pencils with a date in the corner from about eight years ago.

When I tapped it with a fingertip, Missouri grinned and nodded. "She sold that one for a magazine cover, I think. It did the rounds more than most of her stuff." She opened the door of the fridge, reaching around me to a store-brand gallon of lemonade. "Fresh is as fresh does," she said seriously and raised her eyebrows at me before pouring the lemonade into glasses with ice and adding three wedges of lemon from a bowl in the fridge. "It's all about presentation." She handed me a glass, pulled a package of Oreos out of the pantry and headed out to the living room again with the other glasses on a tray. She presented it all on the coffee table in front of the Winchesters and gave me a significant, knowing glance.

Certainly a wonder, all right.

"Have you heard anything from Dad since last time?" Sam asked as he took a glass from the tray and three Oreos. He sipped politely at the lemonade and exclaimed, "Mmm, this is really good lemonade!"

"Family recipe," Missouri smirked and winked at me when I tried to smother a smile. "I haven't heard from him, though. I'm sorry, boys."

As amusing as her bait-and-switch was, something was bugging me about her. A feeling, a nagging sensation under my skin finally drove me to lean forward and fix her with a stare. “You’re lying.”

She kept her eyes studiously forward. "What makes you think that?"

"Your voice keeps changing. Like when I was here with Henry." Missouri looked at me in surprise and I could see that I’d hit the mark by the way her eyes widened. "You put on a heavier accent when you're lying. When you're performing, it's the Jamaican one, but when you're just lying, it's Southern. Like... Alabama Southern. I noticed it when we were in the kitchen. You sound different when you're talking about your daughter, but slip back into the Southern when you're talking about the lemonade."

Dean and Sam watched us back and forth like spectators at a tennis match. Sam looked vaguely mortified, chewing his lip and his eyes wide. "What's wrong with the lemonade?" he asked. Dean just grinned like someone gave him Christmas early.

"It's store-bought," I said without looking away from Missouri. Sam sputtered and Dean covered his mouth with a short laugh.

Missouri stared back at me intently for a few moments, then a smile curled her lips. "And what do I sound like when I'm not lying? How would you know?"

I considered, then shrugged. "When it's real, you sound like you're from Nebraska or Kansas. Midwestern. Comfortable." I sat up a little straighter. "You don't sound like you have any kind of accent at all. When you're lying, you sound like you're from somewhere else. When you're telling the truth, you sound like you're from here."

"Are you saying," Missouri leaned forward to smirk at me, "that I make myself sound other when I'm lyin', just to make the lyin' easier?"

"You tell me," I shot back, matching her amusement.

"Damn, you're sharp!" She shook her head and beamed at me. "I like you."

Dean said quietly to Sam, "I have no idea what just happened, but I think we just won. Did we win?"

"I think so," confirmed Sam in the same undertone.

Missouri sighed and sat up straight, her hands on her knees. "Yes, I was lying. John was here, right when you were last time. But he made me promise not to tell you. And I keep my promises, no matter how much I hate them." Dean and Sam both opened their mouths to protest, but Missouri raised a hand firmly. "No, I know. It wasn't fair to you. He knew you were there and wasn't ready to come out so he made me promise. And I'm sorry for my part in that." She shifted her position in the chair and considered the three of us for a moment. "He does know about you, Jane. He only just found out, though. I’m the one who told him. I suspected you were his when you came with Henry those years ago, but I couldn't confirm it when you didn't know yourself. So I confronted John about it and he remembered your mother. When I told him he had a daughter, you should have seen his face." Her eyes softened and her smile was fond, affectionate. "You'll meet him, I'm sure, now that he knows and that you know. He won't stay away from his boys forever and he won't be able to keep himself from seeing you."

"Do you know where he is, Missouri?" Sam asked in a pleading tone. His eyes were puppy-like, whether intentional or not. "He still hasn't contacted us and we need to know where he is."

"He called me last week," she said. Her voice was resigned with a note of frustrated disappointment. I wondered if it was aimed at us or John. “He wanted to know if I'd heard anything more from you boys and I said I hadn't. I think he was headed for Chicago chasing down some kind of lead on what killed your mother. That's what he's been doing this whole time, you know. And why he wants to keep you clear."

Dean's expression folded in on itself, brow lowered and jaw tight. "That's not fair. We want to get the thing that killed Mom just as bad as he does and we can help. We're better together. And we're not kids anymore." He looked at Sam, who nodded with a little less conviction.

"I know you do," Missouri said, “but it's not my call to make. It's your daddy's. When he's ready, he'll call you in, but you know as well as I do that there's no forcing his hand if he isn't ready." She glanced at me and smiled sadly. "Poor baby, you don't even know that much yet. John's a stubborn son of a bitch."

"Like father, like daughter," I snorted and both of my brothers grinned.

Missouri laughed and nodded, "I suppose that's true enough, too. Well, if you are all fool enough to want to get mixed up with this thing, I'll do what I can to support you. Call me if you need me, okay? I still have a few resources I can tap without ruffling too many feathers." She reached out for our phones, tapped her cell number into each set of contacts, then returned them. "I wish you all the best, darlings. I don't want you hurt any more than your daddy does, but that bastard is going to get himself killed and I don't want that, either. You find him, okay? And give him a smack from Missouri."

"We will," Dean grinned. "Thanks, Missouri."

"You're welcome." She gathered us each into a tight hug, then sent us out the door with more Oreos. "And I mean that. You are always welcome here. Keep each other safe and bring your daddy back out of this."

"We will." We all waved to Missouri as we piled into the Impala and Dean revved the engine, pulling away toward the interstate again.


End file.
